


Louspeak

by cosmicangst



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-12
Updated: 2015-03-12
Packaged: 2018-03-17 14:25:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 715
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3532676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cosmicangst/pseuds/cosmicangst
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Apparently, he was fluent in Louspeak.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Louspeak

 

Motherfucker, that _hurt_.

 

Not that he wasn’t expecting it to, but this, this was a whole new level of hurt.

He should’ve read the fucking fine print. Piece of shit contract.

 

And what are these jeans even made of?

Flimsy piece of...

 

Shit!

 

Oh, that’s gonna leave a bruise.

 

His lips were already bitten raw. The wiggling started maybe... ten minutes ago? None of it was helping anymore.

 

Ow. Fuck.

What was that? Like 10? With the, the… fucking _thing_. On top of another twenty, thirty, no, _shit-ton_ by hand… So, yeah, he was a squirming, whimpering mess.

 

God, he must look ridiculous. Grown-ass man (okay, almost) bent over the goddamned kitchen counter being paddled within an inch of his life.

Ridiculous!

In fact, so ridiculous, he might start crying. Like for real. Now, _that_ would be downright hysterical. So no, he’s not gonna give him the satisfaction.

 

“I’m not some sadistic bastard getting a kick out of braking you and seeing you cry.”

Good? So, that’s it. We’re done?

 

“But, those tears that are about to fall, and let me assure you, they will fall...”

So not happening.

 

"... you're still not listening! You're all tangled up in you little smartmouth internal monologues, being all brazen and so clever...”

Wait, has he been saying shit out loud? How could he have missed that?

 

“Because, you’re fucking high, you idiot! Jesus! I’m not doing this out of anger. Despite what you may think, you didn't rile me up. Your fucking antics may be annoying, but I’ve dealt with them far too many times to be affected. They don't do shit to me. They only make you seem like a fucking spoiled little brat. Entitled. Self-absorbed. Vain."

Ok. That’s just plain mean.

 

"I’m doing this for you. For the off-chance that there’s still a _possibility_ that you'll get your head out of your ass. That you'll see that this bad-boy danger persona is only making you look like an uneducated, homophobic, racist twat! Gullible. Scared. Angry.”

“You gonna finish with three adjectives every time?”

 And who the fuck is angry!?

 

“...that you can be a kind, decent human being, and still be _you_ …”

Pffft.

“...and happy with yourself."

 

Oh, get _on_ with it already.

 

He was so getting used to this impromptu… whatever, that the sudden silence came as a shock. So many words, soothing this, this dreadful _thing_ between them, and then nothing. Just a sigh, a barely there whoosh of air, and...

 

"Pants down!"

 

_What?_

"What?"

 

"If I pull them off, so help me God, Louis, you won't be sitting for a week!"

Well, that's mildly disturbing…

 

He’s been staring at the marble pattern for nearly twenty minutes now. His whole world reduced to cracked silver veins frozen in hard stone. How poetic. He peeled himself away from the cold, and suddenly everything rushed back into focus. _Oh._ Maybe he shouldn’t have talked back?

 

Well, it is what it is, as they say...

What a stupid thing to say!

 

He unbuttoned his jeans and pushed them down, just below his hips. Clearing his throat, he turned and finally glanced at Paul, hoping it would be enough. Got an unamused blink in return, and… fuck.

Courage is so overrated.

"Erm… look..."

 

After four years of touring all over the world with five teenage boys, Paul… well… kind of lost the virtue of patience. He didn't jerk, twitch, or in any way or form show the intention of moving. He just _did_. The entirety of him, every single molecule, was rushing towards Louis simultaneously. It was like a massive shock wave. Like a force of fucking nature crashing down in hi-res slow motion onto him.

"I'm doing it! I'm doing it!" He _did not_ just squeak that.

 

Paul looked like a goddamned raging bull, frozen mid motion, fuming… Yep, _so_ unaffected.

 

Christ, he’s fucked!

 

Reaching back, he squeezed his thumbs under the snug elastic waistband. Synthetic material feeling too real under his fingers. Hesitating just a little, he grabbed his briefs, exhaled a long shaky breath and pulled them down over the curve of his ass.

Wooh. That was not embarrassing at all. Now just to turn back, lean down, grab the hell out of that cold fucking counter edge, and… yeah.

 

That’s all there’s to it.

 


End file.
